


Endurance

by frooit



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Cloud is grumpy, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Drunk Sex, First Time, Fondling, Gift Fic, Graphic Description, Grief/Mourning, Kinda, Kissing, M/M, Mentions of Cross-dressing, One Shot, Porn With Plot, Reno makes eggs, Romance, Shower Sex, Swearing, Tifa has good ideas, and more dresses, and sick, and snuggling, cloud needs a vacation, grab-assing, one shot with issues, sometime after AC timeline, the past is dark, unusual propositions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-14
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-08-30 17:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8543254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frooit/pseuds/frooit
Summary: Cloud is sick, and Reno's got a delivery for him to make.





	1. the deal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChrisVertner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChrisVertner/gifts).



> Yeah, I'll repeat it. This goes out to ChrisVertner.
> 
> You’re fabulous, my dear, and you get a huge nod, and a hat tip (and many, many other gestures of acknowledgement), for this sucker. As many as I can give. This is for you. You mapped it out and I (insistently) did the leg work. Hope it's decent enough payment. Was originally supposed to be a clear-cut “get better soon” gift fic, but it got longer, and longer, and some of the original point was lost (cuddling and orphans!), but, its porny companion piece (because I’m a perv, and I can’t help myself) should make that okay now.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“You look like shit, delivery boy.”

Reno's apartment appears, smells, and is situated exactly in the rundown part of town exactly how you would expect. The entire complex looks to be just about a hop, a skip, and a jump away from being torn down.

Cloud hangs outside the doorway, blinking at the mess through the wide open door, trying to make sense of the colours and the shapes inside, and getting nowhere.

“Hello?”

Cloud drifts back to Reno's already pitying face.

“Whoa, man. You _are_ out to lunch,” he exclaims.

Reno leans forward, not giving him a warning (or leaving the doorframe), and grabs Cloud by the shoulder. He pulls him and his delivery inside with him.

“Do they not take care of you where you come from? What's-her-face doesn't have time—”

“Do you have…”

“Huh?”

“ _Water_ ,” Cloud whispers.

Reno perks.

“Absolutely,” he confirms, and hops to it.

Cloud stands alone on the landing, the door closed at his back. There’s a compact kitchen and dining room to his left, a small living room to his right. Straight ahead, down a narrow hall, are what must be bedrooms and closets, and a bathroom.

The place is dim and chaotic. There are clothes left out on the floors, left over the furniture, inches from his toes. Refuse and a random gun lie on the kitchen counter. That could also be a pair of lady's underwear on a cabinet handle. The rest is lost in the darkness.

He works his wet boots over the landing tiles. He rolls his hanging shoulders. He stifles a cough.

“Where's?” Cloud mutters.

 _Rude_.

“He's… not here,” Reno answers from deep inside the kitchen.

Cloud coughs again, longer, louder, feeling it rattle in his chest and clench in his kidneys, and then feels dizzy. When he blinks his eyes clear, the haze lifting, Reno is in front of him offering a huge glass of water complete with ice cubes.

“He's got a girlfriend… If ya can believe it,” he's saying.

“Oh,” Cloud breathes, accepting the glass.

Reno watches him drink.

Cloud notices, and tries not to notice, and then tries not to choke.

“You allergic to anything?”

Cloud swallows thickly.

“What?” he sputters.

“I doubt it,” Reno returns, taking on a musing sort of expression. “You're tougher than you look. Always up for a fight, always willing to go further.”

“Why—”

“Put those down. Come with me.”

“Reno…” Cloud growls.

He puts nothing down. He stays put.

“Oh, don't worry, man. I don't hold grudges. I get even. And, uhh... Shit. Can I start over?”

Reno’s scratching the back of his head, stretching long, all that red hair (that isn't caught in a messy ponytail) sticking straight up, spiky, spiny, and wild.

Cloud is losing his patience. Whatever remains of it. He just lost it. Just now. He doesn’t wait for Reno to recover and make his stupid point, he doesn't really notice how his shirt is pulling up in the front, he shoves the package and half empty glass right for his chest.

Reno jumps and fumbles, but achieves them both.

“Hey,” he barks.

Cloud turns to leave, spinning on his heels.

“Hey, wait a second. Just _wait_ ,” Reno demands.

Against his better judgement, Cloud does. He stops. He hesitates. He waits. He doesn't face him. He doesn’t offer him that much of an advantage. He drops his reaching hand away from the doorknob, from escape, from freedom—feeling about ready to drop himself—and lets him carry on.

Coming here wasn’t a good idea.

“I can't let you leave like this,” Reno argues. “I don't hold grudges, you know, and I don't let allies go home in the state you're in either. It’s not in my nature.”

“ _Allies_?” Cloud groans.

“What if you pass out and crash your bike?”

“I've never—”

“You never know, yo. Let me give you some medication at least. Let me be a proper host.”

Reno sets the glass and the package on the already cluttered kitchen counter and then turns to lead a temporarily compliant Cloud down the long, inky hall to the bathroom at the end. They stand in the small space together, lit and quiet, red and yellow, side by side.

Cloud’s getting the itch to just up and leave again. It probably never left. He’s also getting that itch in his throat too. It definitely never left. 

He coughs to the side.

Reno pauses his rifling through the medicine cabinet to give him a sidelong glare.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he grumbles.

Cloud has nothing to add. He clears his throat and winces at the taste and difficulty of it.

He shouldn’t have lifted his head so fast afterwards. He sways and slides back a step, light headed, lacking, and strikes the doorframe with his boot heels and spine.

Reno is alerted all at once.

“Hey,” he utters.

Cloud tenses, still ready for a clash.

But, Reno isn’t clashing, or taking advantage of his misstep, he’s crowding in and pressing his hand over Cloud’s clammy forehead.

“You okay?” he murmurs.

The hand is cold, delightfully so.

Cloud squashes the desire to make a depleted, needy noise. He squashes the desire to tell him _no_. No, no, no. He's never been okay.

He just closes his eyes and hopes he doesn’t faint.

“Hot damn,” Reno declares. “Thought so. You’re burnin’ up. And you can hardly stand.”

He is very close. Very near. His body, his face, his heat. His smell. His deniable concern.

“Poor, miserable Cloud,” he breathes, a waft cool on his hot face. “You look like a drowned rat.”

He removes his hand and drags Cloud from the doorframe, tugging him to the sink and counter.

Cloud goes. He can't fight. He doesn't want to fight. He puts both hands on the rim to steady himself, trembling and thin.

“Here,” Reno grunts.

He hands him two white pills.

“What… are they?” Cloud asks, looking down on them bounce in Reno's palm.

“Just take ‘em,” Reno urges, shouldering the cabinet closed with a thud. “And call me in the morning.”

“What... are... they?” Cloud tries again.

Reno sighs.

He picks Cloud's hand from the brim and forces the pills into his palm. Then he's crossing his arms, cocking his head, and leaning all his weight onto one foot to dig his narrow hip into the counter’s edge and staring him down, cool, cocky, moments away from another scathing comment, or another blazing smile.

He means business.

“An inflatable raft. Just add water.”

Cloud’s mirrored stare is unchanging. He offers no reaction. He blinks, sniffs, and rocks forward, slowly, slowly, losing more mental and physical ground.

“It's fucking _medicine_ , man,” Reno blurts, breaking cool and cocky to lean close and gesture at them. “Might make you drowsy. Always does me. You don't have to worry about that though. You're _beyond_ drowsy. Do you want syrup instead?”

Cloud takes the pills with a splash of water from the sink and turns to exit.

He doesn't get far.

Reno has the audacity to grab him.

He gets him by the arm and then darts ahead, sliding by him and into the hall outside. They make it so far as the first step off the metal runner at the base of the bathroom door, onto carpet, unto darkness, and then Cloud’s brain is clicking back on. He finally realizes what’s going on.

Reno’s trying to get him to a blacked out room on their right.

Cloud freezes and locks his knees, digging in his heels.

Reno lurches and comes to a standstill.

“You _have_ to lie down,” he explains from the dim doorway. “My room’s right here.”

Cloud can’t handle this.

He doesn’t understand this.

Reno tugs him onward with a single motion, too easily overpowering him in his weakened state.

They enter the dark room.

“I can't…” Cloud groans, still pulling against him.

“You _can_. You should. Take a load off. You could definitely use it... I’ll even stay for a little and cuddle with you. If you want. Cuddling always makes me feel better when I’m sick...”

Reno releases him.

Cloud stands blind in the dark.

A soft click proceeds the lamp turning on, mellow and subdued. The bed and Reno are now illuminated before him. Cloud’s not quite in the middle of the room. He's not quite trapped.

“No,” he answers.

“Why?” Reno prods. “Because spooning's dirty?”

Cloud snorts and coughs.

“With _you_ maybe.”

“Oh, ouch. Come on. You'll enjoy it,” Reno urges, reaching a hand out to him.

“Do you and Rude often cuddle?” Cloud retorts, gravel and venom.

Reno looks surprised only for a moment. His reply is followed by a sly smile.

“Oh, all the time.”

He wiggles his long fingers at him, beckoning him on, urging, coaxing.

“No,” Cloud utters.

Reno drops his arm, along with his fingers, and tilts his head.

 _He's handsome_.

The thought leaps to Cloud’s mind: sick and foggy and drained.

“No.”

“Please?”

_Very handsome._

More handsome than Cloud would ever admit.

“Why?” he snaps, getting annoyed.

“Because you'll feel better,” Reno offers. “And because I said so. And because the last time you probably cuddled was in the womb.”

Cloud needs to leave.

He’s just about to turn.

He’s finally going to get out of here.

“Okay, _okay_ ,” Reno blurts, catching on too quickly. “No cuddling. Sorry. No cuddling. Just… come lie down. You're done, man. I’m going out soon anyway. Had plans. And, no, not the kind you’re probably thinking either. Just... _plans_. Boring plans. You can sleep while I’m gone. You won’t be bothered. It's late… It's quiet...”

“Are you… asking me to… stay over?”

Reno snaps his fingers and points at him.

“ _Got it_. Think mommy will be okay with that?”

Cloud sneers and looks away.

He looks at their feet, over to the doorway, back to their feet.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Reno responds.

What has he got to lose?

He didn’t want to fight.

“No cuddling.”

He lifts his head to stare Reno dead on, unblinking.

“No cuddling,” Reno confirms, nodding.

Cloud steps forward.

“And I'm not sleeping over,” he insists.

“Alright then.”

Cloud might have hung onto some shreds of the SOLDIER outfit (the turtleneck and slacks), but he also hung them up. He dresses in straight black clothing now. Like he's at a funeral. Like he's a shadow. No more belts and sleeves draping. No more swords and harness. He's a civilian, average, normal. Except, that he still feels anything but normal…

He removes his boots and makes for the bed.

“You can't sleep in _that_ ,” Reno declares.

“Reno…”

“ _What_? Seriously? Like that's gonna be comfortable? At least take the shirt off, man.”

Cloud hesitates, not long enough, and complies. He can't really dispute it. He doesn’t usually sleep in a lot of clothing. And he needs to lie down. Before he drops.

He peels the black shirt over his head.

Reno has the unkempt bed turned down for him. He’s standing far enough removed. He's waiting off to the side. He's being kind and honouring his space.

Cloud climbs in under the blankets and drops back. The bed smells of Reno. It's immediately overwhelming. He takes a breath and groans. His eyes blink, flutter, and close.

“Cellphone?” Reno prompts.

He's casting a shadow down over him.

Cloud submits nothing in return.

“Come on. I know you have one. You never answer it anyway. What does it matter?”

Cloud again groans, from displeasure this time, and wedges the phone from his slacks.

He leans up and sets it on the nightstand himself, bypassing Reno's hand in offering.

Cloud drops back once more.

Into Reno's smell.

Into comfort and warmth.

“Sweet dreams,” Reno mumbles.

Cloud takes a breath, blinks, squints at Reno's arm clicking off the bedside lamp, tries to keep his eyes (plunged in darkness) open for just a moment longer, fails, closes them, and moans his reply, rasped and wordless.

This is crazy.

 

 

He wakes up with a start, and doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know which era, which lie, which nightmare, which reality it could be until his eyes focus. 

A dull roar. Blood rushing in his head. Muted screams. A rash of sweat and gooseflesh.

The panic dies down.

He's not lost and confused in the dark, under the stars and rain, the heavy rain, doused in blood, so much blood, not his own, not understanding, not a shred of hope anywhere, no. 

He's in Reno's Edge apartment. In Reno's bed. And he's in big trouble.

How is he going to explain this one?

Next thing he knows, he's ravenous, and he's gotta piss like a racehorse, and he’s in motion and delirious, untangling himself from the sheets, finding his way across the unlit room. He’s stopping, he’s falling, leaned against the door frame, hugging it, hanging on.

He must have slept a long time. His body is weak. He's sluggish and clumsy, and his feet are gathering pins and needles. Every step is numbing, cooling, scorching. He feels grimy, brittle. He must have sweat out most of the sickness too. He doesn’t feel so feverish. He doesn’t feel so awful.

Oh, does he still feel awful.

 

 

The entire apartment is dark. He steps out into the hall, after first stopping in the bathroom, and sees only the ultra-green clock display of the microwave gleaming in the distance.

He follows the hall, a straight shot, taking it slow, hugging the wall, and comes out into the open air of the living room and dining room.

He pauses for a blink, in limbo, a dead zone, and then works ahead, padding forwards over the carpet, quiet and breathless, meeting the cold kitchen floor. Each step over the lino is muted by his socks. He moves noiselessly.

Unfiltered light bolts on as he opens the fridge. His eyes sting and snap shut.

He’s not there for more than five seconds when a warm body slides in around him from behind.

Cloud goes rigid, the hot flush and goosebumps returning with a stinging vengeance. His sickness rears up, clouding his head, flooding his sinuses. Every muscle hurts. Every bone.

“Oh, hello,” Reno purrs. “How you feelin’?”

Closeness, nearness, neediness. The hint of bare flesh. Cloud is shirtless and caught in the heat of the pressing in body at his back. He’s caught in the chill of the fridge at his front.

Reno coils in, tightly squeezing, feeling, all palms and fingers, and hot, hot breath in his ear.

Cloud shrugs his shoulders and tries to shake him.

“Get _off_ me,” he demands, grating it out.

“Hey, okay,” Reno grunts, removing himself without much fuss.

Cloud is breathing deeply, ready to defend himself. His fists are formed and raised.

“Relax. Just checking your temperature,” Reno explains.

When Cloud finally centers, he finds Reno’s smile is soft, easy, digging. He looks disheveled and dented, and fresh from bed himself. His button down his undone, open and crumpled. His black slacks are the same story.

He must have slept on the couch.

“You're still hot,” Reno observes.

Cloud’s empty stomach flops. He shivers a cold sweat. He rubs his arms. His head hurts.

“You slept forever, man,” Reno notes. “I can see you’re hungry. I’ll make you somethin’, yo. Even if, you know... we _didn’t_ sleep together.”

Cloud chooses the safety of silence, while Reno gets to doing just what he said.

He edges Cloud aside and leans down to check the fridge.

“You know, I always found you to be…” he’s muttering.

Time drags on forever when you're sick.

In the stark, over-bright light of the fridge, in profile… It's so sappy, but Reno is so very lovely. It’s hard to miss. Somehow Cloud hadn't noticed it all before. He’s having to notice it all now. All at once. Glaring and intense and thrumming. He never looked for long enough. He was always walking out the door, or sliding by, or giving him a reason to hate him right back.

He never noticed Reno had such a well-shaped mouth, so easy to watch. He never got the chance to see how keen and all-seeing his eyes were, and that they’re a crystal sort of turquoise. His features are unique, interesting: sharp and soft in the same instance. Two curious tattoos mar the lower outside corners of his eyes, like accents, punctuation, extensions of his mane.

Cloud finds he wants to know what they might feel like.

Is it smooth? Or slightly raised?

“... really fucking hot, yo.”

“What?”

Honestly, Cloud hadn't been listening. He was in his mind. He was watching Reno's cheekbones, mouth, and jaw work. He was meandering down his throat cords, to the very start of his prominent clavicle hidden not very well under an open button down shirt, just a shifting whisper, a tease.

Cloud had been staring.

“You’re fucking hot,” Reno summarizes.

“Oh.”

Reno scoffs.

“ _Oh_?” he repeats.

“You want me to be surprised?” Cloud mumbles.

“I was expecting _some_ sort of reaction…”

“You had me deliver a package to you... late at night... because you wanted to get me here.”

“Correct.”

“So you could… tell me... I’m hot?”

Reno shrugs, running his hands through his mess of red hair, loosed and long.

“More or less. I figure… I’ve got a lot to make up for, right? I'm starting there.”

“Yeah, sure…”

Cloud drops his chin and looks to the floor, noting the cracks and the texture. He threads his fingers together. He works them, clenches them. His stomach growls.

“You like eggs?” Reno asks, changing the subject. “I've been told I make killer eggs.”

“Sure...” Cloud drones.

“Sit,” Reno orders, pointing to a nearby stool pulled up to the nearby bar countertop.

Cloud obeys.

 

 

Reno does make killer eggs.

He makes him a plateful in silence, his shirt sleeves rolled high, his back turned.

Cloud eats all he's given in that same silence.

Reno remains in the kitchen, on the other side of the counter. At a safe distance. Not a threat. He watches him eat. He doesn't speak. He leans on the counter. He paces. He checks his phone. He looks nervous. He looks cool. He ruffles his hair. Fidgets. Hums.

Cloud finally pushes the plate away, lining it up with his empty water glass.

“Good?” Reno inquires.

Cloud nods.

Except, everything’s not good.

The package he brought the night before has been calling out to him. It sat there, off to his right, quiet and innocuous, the entire time he stuffed his face. It hasn't been opened. It hasn't been moved since yesterday. It could just be a dummy. It could be empty.

It didn’t feel empty.

He stares at it.

Reno notices.

They're both looking at it now.

“Would you be upset to know it’s a sex toy?” Reno muses.

He doesn’t wait for a reply. He gives him every reason to worry more.

Reno yawns and stretches his arms long over his head, bending and bowing, groaning at the resulting release and tingle, and loud pop. The motion shows off his mostly naked chest in all its half glory, whether he means it or not.

“Wouldn't expect anything less…” Cloud murmurs, his teeth setting solid.

He’s grateful he’s safe behind the counter.

“Actually…” Reno groans, slinking back up to him, “I had Rude do it for me. He's good with that stuff… You wanna do the honours?”

Cloud stares.

He stares on as Reno slides the package over to park it in front of him.

“It’s cool. And safe. Probably. Give it a shot.”

The object in question is wrapped in brown parchment paper. It’s small, about the size of a book.

Reno hasn’t swayed an inch, and he says no more. He’s waiting for him to make his move.

Cloud slowly comes to it, shifting the package closer. He starts on the closest edge, tearing and shredding the thin outer layer, enjoying the sound, the feeling, the process.

He can’t remember the last time he did this.

This: opened mail, listened to an order, hoped to be surprised.

Unsurprisingly, after the paper is discarded, he is left with a plain white box. He picks at its taped corners, wasting no time, and gets inside. Another box is contained within. It’s flatter, smaller, just as plain, and deposits a card into his waiting hand once tried. 

Printed on this simple white card, in simple black font, are the few simple words:

> _wanna go on a date?_

Cloud doesn’t know how to take it.

“What is this?” he asks, looking up to Reno.

He turns the card this way and that, and then drops it back inside the box.

He drops the whole thing back onto the counter.

“Didn't know you were sick,” Reno starts. “No one tells me shit, yo. Kinda bad timing. Kinda serendipitous too. Sorry. I tried to call. Girlfriend didn't even mention anything to me…”

A pause. A foot tap on the lino floor. He’s leaned half his body over the countertop.

“So?” Reno presses, tousled, half naked, sleeves rolled, a smile threatening.

“What?” Cloud snaps.

“You wanna? When you feel up to it, obviously.”

“Huh?”

“Go on a _date_ ,” Reno stresses.

“You're serious.”

Reno nods.

“As a heart attack.”

“Oh, shit,” Cloud breathes.

“See, _that's_ a better reaction.”

Reno’s smile blooms. He straightens up. He’s got his arms back over his head.

Cloud scowls.

“No, no, no,” Reno rambles, the smile quickly dying, the pose dropping. He waves his hands, dismissive, denying. “I'm serious, man.”

“Why?”

“I told you already. If you'd been—”

“This isn't… a joke?” Cloud asks.

“Did you get picked on a lot as a kid?” Reno snorts.

Cloud turns aside to cough. His expression does not soften.

Reno crosses his arms.

“Oh, shit. _Really_? It was just a guess, man… It because you're so pretty?”

“I'm not pretty,” Cloud objects.

“Well, that just proves it right there,” Reno mutters. “You’re _blind_ if you don’t think you’re pretty. You shame all the girls I've ever been with, and especially Rude’s. Shit. Deal with it. You're pretty. You’re more than pretty. You're fine as hell.”

“Yeah, sure…”

“I told you. I'm serious. I’m serious about this. I'm serious about making shit better. We've been through some shit. You and I. We've seen some shit. The same shit. We're on common ground here. We can relate, yo. I'm all for doing right and making amends. Why do you think I let you go all those times?”

Cloud stares at him.

Reno says _making better_ and _making amends_ , and _he's serious_ , all the while skirting around that one word, that one name, like Cloud really doesn’t know he's still working for Shinra.

Cloud’s getting mad again. Really mad. He’s feeling it rush over him: a cascade, a down pour, a coursing swell. He’s mad he came here. He’s mad he thought he was handsome. He’s mad he listened to him for this long. 

He gets a flash of home, of hope, of death, of familiar faces, of Denzel’s face, of metal buckling, of dust and fire, the whir of helicopter rotors, and then he says it. Out it comes. With all the trimmings.

“Murderer.”

Reno stops in his tracks.

“That’s harsh.”

“That’s not what you are?” Cloud growls, that acrid feeling building, growing, spoiling. “You didn’t sacrifice thousands of lives just to kill us? In Midgar. You didn’t drop a pl—”

“Stop,” Reno mutters.

His voice is shredded.

“Stop right there,” he grits.

And it’s not getting any better.

“That was the job,” he insists. “It was always… the _job_.”

“You—”

“I’m trying to do my best here. After. After all that. Just like you. I know what I did. So, shit. I’d appreciate a little understanding here. I’d appreciate it even more… if you never fucking brought that up again. Ever.” He pauses. It takes only a beat. “ _Murderer_? What the _fuck_ does that make you, hero? Immaculate? _Unstained_?”

“No different.”

“Is that why you go around wearing black all the time? Like you’re at a funeral? Can’t get girlfriend to dress you? You’re just so fucking sad. Just so fucking sensitive and wounded.”

“I really got you mad, didn’t I?”

“You called me a fucking murderer.”

“You’re acting like nothing happened.”

“Bullshit. You’re acting like a baby.”

“A _baby_?”

Reno laughs at him. He tips right over the counter to do it right in his face.

“Holy _shit_. Your _expression_ ,” he gasps.

Cloud fumes openly, too tired to put up a wall.

“You’re so fucking childish,” he groans, sniffing and clearing his throat.

“A childish child murderer,” Reno chimes.

Cloud abruptly stands.

The stool wobbles but remains.

“Hey,” Reno mutters. “It was a joke.”

“It’s not a joke.”

“I know… I get it. I’m sor—”

“ _Don’t_. You don’t get it. Don’t say it to _me_. Say it to... everyone you killed that day. All those families.”

Reno struggles for calm.

He actually looks worried.

“Cut it out. Fuck,” he hisses, all that former pleasure and positivity gone. “I got it. Loud and clear. Gimme a palate cleanser or something. Just stop. _Please_. I succeed. I succeed.”

Cloud’s clenched fists relax.

“It’s not me you should be angry with anyway,” Reno argues. “It’s… them. It was _them_.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cloud loses all his righteous fire. He hangs his head, snuffed out.

“Oh, what? Now _you’re_ sorry?” Reno growls.

“I’m just… tired and sick… and in your apartment. I’m...”

“Yeah. I was gonna say…” Reno breathes. “Enjoy the reality, yo. We’re two former rivals sitting peacefully, having a civilized conversation. How often does that happen?”

“Civilized?”

“Yeah, _civilized_. I made you breakfast. Or, well… dinner. By now. I also doped you up. And put you to bed. In my bed. My poor, defenseless bed.”

“Because you think I’m hot. And you’re guilty.”

“Yes, and yes, and also because I’m not just a goon. I’m an alright guy.”

Cloud lifts his head.

Reno winks.

Cloud sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

What is he still doing here?

“Where would we go on our date?” he asks him.

He's giving in.

He's too tired and sick not to.

He thuds back to his seat.

Reno’s eyebrows jump. He's rocking over the countertop again, coming closer. Too much closer.

Cloud leans away.

“Where would you want to go?” Reno asks.

Cloud's back to scowling so soon.

“You haven’t planned this out?”

“Hey!” Reno barks, swinging up and away. “I didn’t think you’d give me the time of day. You thought _I_ thought I’d get this far? I was ready for you to blow me off _yesterday_. Figured I’d have plenty of time to get my ducks in a row when I tried the second time around. A few days later. I’m glad you're sick. Sure made my life easier.”

“You're glad?”

Cloud's suspicious tone is not well hidden.

“Well, yeah. I’m sure you’ve been easier this way. More… open-minded? And you slept in my bed, man. It smells like you now.”

Cloud might be blushing.

That might also stimulate anger.

“That’s why you—”

“You think there’s an angle. That’s the problem here. There’s no _angle_ , Cloud.”

He enjoys how he says his name.

Far too much.

That angry flush deepens. His ears, neck, and throat burn. His teeth clench.

“It’s just you and me,” Reno details. “Just me wanting you. And you can’t figure out _why_. And that’s killing you, isn’t it? Cloud doesn’t understand kindness? Cloud understands pain and blood and tears, but not kindness and love? That’s sad, man. At least that’s better than what you _could_ have been. You have personality. Even if it’s grumpy. You’re not some vanilla good guy. I can’t stand that shit… I’m so fucking glad you’re _you_.”

Even if it's a borrowed personality?

Even if it’s his version of _vanilla good guy_?

Cloud doesn't say it, but he doesn't help himself either. He can’t help himself.

He never did.

He won't now.

“Why?” he mutters.

“Because I dig you.”

Cloud slumps forward and looks down at his lap.

“Love…”

He doesn't think about it. Old times. Old memories. He doesn’t. Doesn't. _Doesn't_.

He cringes and clamps his eyes shut.

“Yeah, _love_ ,” Reno adds.

Cloud tries to stay grounded.

He's spiraling down.

And Reno only carries on.

“Yeah. You know? _Love_? A feeling you get? It's a verb. A verb is a doing word…”

“I know what _love_ is,” Cloud snaps.

He _did_ anyway.

“You love girlfriend?” Reno prods.

Cloud shakes his airy head and opens his blurring eyes.

“Yes… but, Tifa's… an old friend.”

Reno remains silent long enough to maybe hint that he knows more. He might know. He could know. He would know. If Cloud brought up _his_ name, right now, Reno should recognize it.

He probably met him. He definitely met him. Everyone met him.

Once.

“You've got a lot of demons…” Reno notes, shaking his head, tsk-tsk.

“Too many still hanging around…”

He looks pointedly at Reno.

Reno shrugs.

“You gonna stay another night then?”

“What?” Cloud blurts.

“I figured you'd be outta here by now.”

Cloud is feeling very naked all of a sudden. He's shirtless, shoeless, senseless, and sitting in Reno's kitchen, at Reno's kitchen counter, having just slept in Reno’s bed, and eaten Reno’s scrambled eggs, prepared by Reno’s hands...

“You want me to leave?” he asks.

“Fuck no,” Reno exclaims.

But, he also hesitates. He has something more to say. He just doesn’t seem to know how to say it. He stuffs his hands in his back pockets.

Cloud gets the warning signs.

“I should go.”

He hops to it and again stands.

“Whoa. Wait,” Reno calls out, hands appearing in supplication. “Wait, wait. Are we or aren't we?”

They're still separated by the counter. Reno can't come any closer. Not without going around. Not without jumping over. He looks like he wants to. He looks like he would. He’d slap his palms down and bound over.

“ _What_?” Cloud growls, exasperated.

“A date?” Reno ventures.

Cloud gazes at him.

He sees nothing but hope.

Ugly, nasty hope.

He knew that feeling once.

“Fine,” he remarks.

 

 

He has seven missed calls and one voicemail.

He doesn't bother listening. He gets on his bike and goes. He goes home.

Home. The bar.

She's waiting when he gets in. It's late. He slept all night and all day at Reno's. He was so hoping to slink by unnoticed, at least for a few hours. He wanted to clear his head first, and not put his foot in his mouth.

“Are you alright?” she's already asking him.

He drifts over to sit at the bar.

She's already standing behind it, of course. Already playing bartender.

He doesn't say a word. He doesn't lift his head. He sniffs and clears his dry throat.

“Can we talk about the elephant in the room?”

He actually turns to look behind him, as if an elephant would really be in there with them.

“What?” he murmurs.

“You sleeping over at Reno's when you’re sick? You said you'd be right back. It would be a quick job. Did… something happen?”

“Oh, yeah. Right. No.”

“Cloud…”

Oh, that mothering tone.

Cloud groans. He rolls his head on his sore neck. His skull is starting to throb.

“He's taking me on a date tomorrow tonight.”

“He's taking you on a _date_?” she squawks.

“Yeah.”

“A _real_ date?”

“Yeah.”

“Reno is?”

“Yeah…”

“You really said yes?”

“ _Yeah_.”

“Wow.”

Cloud finally looks up, expression guarded.

He's expecting pain at his expense.

He's expecting her to bring _it_ up. Him. _That_. Something. Anything.

“Way to go, Cloud.”

She's making it light and harmless.

“He called earlier. He's pretty cute.”

Cloud drops his gaze back to the bar top.

This is almost worse.

“I'm excited for you. Have fun. You need to, you know. You need to take better care of yourself. You do nothing but work. And then you sulk. You're still sulking, Cloud. Even now. Go out and forget everything for a while, okay?”

Cloud says nothing for a long time.

“We'll be here when you get back,” she adds.

Cloud nods, knowing it quite well.

“What are you gonna wear?”

Cloud drops his shoulders and narrows his eyes.

She won't leave well enough alone.

She never has.

“You know… You look good in a dress…” she says, and abruptly laughs. “Could you imagine his _face_ if you showed up in a _dress_? And heels? And full makeup? Oh my goodness…”

“Tifa… you're not helping.”

“Sorry. Really.”

A long pause.

Conversation with Cloud is a collection of long pauses; long pauses and distant stares and no resolution and simmering annoyance.

Tifa decides to work about behind the bar, busying herself as she waits for participation.

Cloud coughs and winces.

He sniffs and stews.

He slowly smiles.

“That _would_ be something…” he mumbles.

Tifa drifts back to smile with him.

“Right? I bet you he'd like it. Oh, would _he_ like it. I happen to have a dress too… It's blue. And slinky. And I might still have stockings...”

Back to silence.

Tifa stands there for some time, hoping for a quick answer. She twists the bar rag in her hands. She doesn't sigh, or look mad. She is more patient than she has any right to be.

Cloud is struggling meanwhile. He's still sick. He's still faded. He's caught in his dreamy head. He’s trapped in the image of Reno's hands running up his shivering sides. His hands gliding up, up and back, and then lifting under, bunching, raising the dress. Hands pressing and finding bare flesh. Hands sliding warmed fabric higher and higher, over knees, over thighs, over hips.

He shivers.

“Have you guys… you know…”

She gestures with the rag.

“It's a _date_ , Tifa.”

She smiles to herself.

“Might get lucky if you're wearing a dress...”

Cloud shrugs, sighs, and finally pushes himself up and back from the bar top.

“Don't really think I'll have any problems with that…”

He leaves her so he can sulk in peace.

“See you later,” she calls after him.

“Night,” he grumbles back.

He mounts the stairs to the second floor, and his room.

“Get some more rest,” she adds.

He doesn't reply.

 

 

He knocks on Reno's door several hours later.

He raps the hard surface with his bare knuckles three times, and he waits, thinking all the while about turning and leaving. He waits and debates in much the same way he did the day before.

Rude comes to the door.

Cloud balks. His faces flushes.

“Is…” he starts.

His throat closes up.

He winces and coughs into his hand.

Rude just stares at him.

“Is… Reno here?” Cloud manages.

Rude stands, eyes negated and unreadable behind his black glasses.

Cloud looks aside, maybe even ashamed, maybe even angry. He resets his footing.

Rude closes the door.

Cloud shrugs and stifles another cough.

Moments later, Reno opens the door smiling.

He's dressed sharp. It's customary for him, the black suit. He wears it well. His white shirt is buttoned all the way up to his slender throat. His black jacket is closed around his thin waist. His wild red hair is slicked back and contained. He looks primped and pressed. He looks neat. Too neat.

He's making an effort.

Cloud's flush remains, teetering between unbearable and excruciating.

“Yo,” Reno murmurs, that smile somehow getting wider.

Cloud frowns on reflex.

“Kinda surprised you showed up,” Reno notes.

“I keep promises,” Cloud returns.

“Good to know,” Reno answers, closing the apartment door behind him.

He steps by Cloud, sliding near: a rush of air and motion and fabric.

He even smells neat.

He's making to leave, and Cloud watches him go. For a long moment, a hazy moment, he doesn't do anything. He lets him go. He shuts off and clings to his easy reservations. He lets Reno get several steps away. He convinces himself he’s not here for him at all. This is a misunderstanding.

Reno eventually stops to regard him from over his shoulder, steps down the corridor.

“Got somewhere in mind. And we're walking. Is that okay? It's not far.”

Cloud swallows down his racing thoughts.

He's come this far.

He should go the distance.

 

 

They get to street level after taking the stairs and hit the alley channeling alongside the large apartment building. It’s the very same alley Cloud has been using to park the Fenrir. As they start to make their way to wherever the date begins, Reno out front, Cloud trailing behind, they pass by the motorcycle tucked beside a giant commercial dumpster.

“Nice bike,” Reno mutters. “It'll be safe there. Probably.”

“It better be,” Cloud grumbles, pulling his open jacket tight.

He’s glad he came in his warm clothes.

Reno scoffs and glances back to him.

“You ride that in the rain?”

“Yeah.”

Reno nods.

“Ever done it on a bike?”

“Huh?”

“Done it. On a bike. _Your_ bike. Ever fucked anybody on your bike?”

“Oh… uh. No,” Cloud answers, watching his feet.

“I guess I have to be literal with you, huh?”

“Sorry, just…”

“You apologize more than I thought you would.”

“I've done it twice.”

“Two times more than I was expecting.”

“I'm just… sick.”

“I know, dear. It's adorable. And pathetic. Don't sweat it. I'll try to go easy on you.”

Reno has stopped to wait for him. His legs aren't much longer, but he's healthy and he’s whole. He waits, bouncing his foot, patting his thigh. He's healthy, handsome, wide awake, and he might be nervous too. He's itching to get on.

They join and walk together, side by side.

Reno governs his pace.

The alley is long, straight and true. People move by them, here and there, when and where they move by them. Voices rise and fall. The way is narrow. Their shoulders and wrists brush: meeting, deflecting, rubbing.

The night is young.

“I guess I shouldn't ask about your childhood,” Reno mutters.

The asphalt is wet. It's been sprinkling.

“I don't really know that much about you,” he adds.

If Cloud had to guess, Shinra probably has a pretty big dossier on him. If he wanted to, Reno could learn all he ever wanted in a few seconds.

“I try to make my own conclusions about people.”

“My childhood was… a childhood,” Cloud answers.

He tries to dispel the thought: of Shinra, of his childhood, of Reno lying.

“Informative,” Reno snorts.

“What was yours like?” Cloud asks, sniffing.

“I can't remember.”

“What?”

“I honestly can't remember,” Reno admits.

“Informative,” Cloud repeats, coughing afterwards.

Reno laughs.

The sound is full and pleasant.

“Yup. Just look at the two of us chatting away… busting down those walls…”

Cloud hums, liquid and sick, and hopes it's not much farther.

He's already getting cold, even as he’s simmering with old fever.

“Is he going to be there… when we… get back?”

He shivers. His teeth click.

“Rude? No. Oh, no way. I already told him to clear out. Just to be safe. He wouldn't be there anyway. He's occupied remember. It’ll be cool, man.”

There's a minor pause.

They speak almost at the same time.

“I think he's gonna move out soon…”

“You told him we were going—”

Followed by another minor pause.

“Rude's a good guy,” Reno assures.

“How long have you guys lived together?”

“Oh, shit. Too long.” Reno snorts and smiles. “They grow up so fast, don't they?”

Cloud goes back to watching his feet.

Several silent steps later, they come to a stop.

“This is it,” Reno announces.

Strands of green, red and orange lights confuse the building’s tall, hanging, and ugly edifice. It’s a slab of a thing, but it's lit well. And easy to spot. Giant spherical bulbs flash in many porthole-sized windows. Neon signs depicting beer bottles and cigarette brands hum, blink, and pulse in every one.

This is their destination.

“What do you think?” Reno asks.

It's a dive bar.

Cloud blinks.

“I _live_ in a bar,” he reminds.

Reno shrugs and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, sorry. It's just… I come here a lot…”

Cloud stares at the distant door.

It’s solid crimson.

“You don't drink, do you?” Reno inquires.

“No.”

“Would you? With me? Tonight? I know you're sick and all, but… It'll probably warm you up. They do like, food… and other shit too. Or whatever. I think.”

“I… Yeah. Okay,” Cloud mumbles.

He looks away from the red door.

And right to a smiling red Reno, who rocks towards him on his heels.

“Yeah?” he presses.

“I guess,” Cloud replies.

 

 

The bar is dead inside.

Music plays, muted and flat, sounding far away: underground, upstairs, behind a wall. The smell of old smoke and sweat drifts. It's dim, it’s humid, compact and cramped. The floor sticks and peels under their slick soles.

The bartender eyes them as they enter.

“Yo,” he calls to Reno.

Reno gestures a greeting.

Cloud looks on.

They're waiting on the landing.

“Bar or booth?” Reno asks him.

Cloud has to consider this.

A booth would be private, but he'd be safer at the bar.

Cloud drifts there, each step deliberate, and takes a seat on a stool.

Reno unfastens his jacket as he slides in next to him on his left. He settles, rotates at the middle, and turns to face him.

“What do you want?” he asks. “I'm having a beer. To start with. You can work your way up. If you want. Baby steps. I'll lead you into it. How does that sound?”

“Fine.”

“You hungry?”

“No.”

They sit quietly for the first beer.

Reno lets him enjoy the novelty of his situation. He doesn’t talk. He doesn’t joke or prod or eyeball. He proves he can handle the silence, and deal out his own.

They sip and sit and have the place to themselves. They relish the moment, the weight, the possibility. It’s a good twenty minutes of dead air. Maybe longer.

It’s a good start.

By the next round, Cloud's definitely feeling something.

He was already warm, but this is a different warm. This is a belly warm.

Reno is looking more and more delighted. He’s fidgeting, flushed, and grinning. He is looking more and more handsome.

Cloud stares and tries not to. He's feeling more and more giddy, helpless, careless.

Before long, the silence is broken.

“You're not pretty, you know,” Reno mumbles.

“What?”

“You're beautiful.”

Cloud laughs at that.

He can't catch it. And he doesn't want to.

“What was _that_?” Reno marvels.

“What?”

“Did you just _laugh_?”

“Maybe.”

“Oh, I want to hear it again... You ticklish?”

“I dunno.”

Reno slants right and pokes his ribs.

Cloud flinches and groans in annoyance.

“I might have to look into that later,” Reno purrs.

Cloud socks Reno's shoulder.

“Ow,” he whines.

“Get me another drink.”

“Right away,” Reno chimes.

This is so crazy.

 

 

He's drunk by now.

He's finished three beers on an empty stomach. He's swaying back and forth. He's leaning nearer to Reno, wanting his thoughts, wanting his hope, and friction, and pressure, and sensation. He's nearly smiling. He's nearly listening. He's blinking at everything shifting and smearing in front of him.

Everything except for Reno.

Reno is static, constant. He is almost clear. He has his jacket off, his collar open, and his sleeves rolled up to his biceps. He is relaxed, and speaks of nothing in particular. Yet he demands attention.

Drunk now, and sick. What a combination. Cloud's high in the clouds. He's vapor. He's chaos and calm. He's confused and clear. He's ready (and wanting) and waiting for what might come next: love, despair, pain, pleasure, a knife to the gut. Let it come. He's ready. He's breathless. He's drinking in a bar with Reno the Turk.

“So... you deliver packages, huh?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Cloud answers, staring down his latest bottle to stay away from staring at him.

“Keeps you busy?”

“Yeah.”

Reno shifts in his seat and over the top of the stool, rolling his hips forward to the edge. His back curves, cracking, sending a thrill up Cloud's side.

Reno's legs are spread, casual, probably on purpose. His knee is a constant connection. Subtle. Distracting. Immense. Badly ignored.

“You ever get... bored?”

“What do you mean?” Cloud drones.

“You miss… the _adventure_?”

“I...”

Reno twists to face him fully, propping his left elbow onto the counter as a brace for the rest of his body. He is languid, lazy, mesmerizing, and very aware of it.

“Oh, come on. You don't miss it?”

“I don't…” Cloud mutters.

“You don't miss... being the hero?”

Cloud bunches his shoulders.

“You think that was _fun_?” he grumbles.

“It was definitely exciting,” Reno offers.

“I've been fine… delivering packages.”

“Real fine. Miserable, bored, and sick.”

“Shut up.”

“Pressing buttons again, sorry.”

He corrects himself, pulling that connection, and his prodding knee. He sits proper, upright, militant. It’s not an improvement.

“It… doesn't really take much…” Cloud admits.

“I've noticed. But, that's cool, man.”

Cloud glances over for a peek. He hasn't dared make contact for long.

“Should I… even ask _you_ what you've been doing? Do I want to know?”

“You can _ask_ , yeah…” Reno says.

“But you won't tell me?”

Reno smiles.

“Why? Why even work for them?” Cloud pries.

“It's a job,” Reno reminds.

“You could have any job.”

“That's… easier said than done.”

“You just don't want to… change. You don't want to have to do anything. You're comfortable… and lazy.”

Reno shrugs in profile on Cloud's periphery.

“Yeah, I guess that's part of it… It’s also because I know and like everyone there. Well, most everyone. There are a lot of new faces now… but, it's…”

He quiets down.

“You're tricking me,” he accuses.

“What?”

“I didn't… wanna talk about it,” Reno expresses.

Cloud sobers some. He goes distant.

Reno does the same.

But, it doesn't take.

“Oh, come on. Let's not do this. Let's not go quiet… Let's have a fun conversation.”

He scratches his head, slides his fingers through hair slipped free of its slicked back confines, and sighs. The hair falls in strands over his flushed and tattooed cheekbones; over his ears and temples.

He’s destroying Cloud bit by bit.

“What do you like doing?” he asks. “Besides moping?”

Cloud sneers.

He shrugs over himself.

“I like to ride… I ride my motorcycle.”

“Okay. That's something.”

Cloud takes a sip of his beer.

“I'll give you a ride sometime,” he offers.

“Oh?” Reno exclaims.

“If you ask properly.”

Reno grins, canting over, pressing just his face into Cloud's bubble.

“Please, oh please, will you _please_ give me a ride on your totally cool bike, daddy?”

“Don't call me that.”

“Oh, _more_ buttons…”

“You—”

“How are you _not_ a rambling idiot, man? You're still puttin’ up a fight? How much is this gonna take? You're supposed to _relax_. I'm not made of money, you know.”

“Sorry…”

“Fuck. Shut your mouth. I'm enjoying myself.”

Reno slicks his hair back once more. He works on his drink.

“I am too,” Cloud breathes.

“Shit. Could have fooled me.”

Cloud has no reply. He starts picking at the wet label on his bottle.

“Oh. Fuck. I'm terrible at this,” Reno agonizes.

“It's fine…” Cloud groans.

“I’m outta practice.”

Cloud scoffs into a sneeze.

Reno follows it up with a scoff of his own.

More beer is consumed.

More time passes.

“So… do you... like guys _exclusively_ … or?”

“I… never thought about it,” Cloud sniffs.

“Do you fantasize about anything? Like, being with a certain person… or _persons_... in a certain way?”

Cloud is unsteady, hesitant.

It doesn't show.

“No.”

“You're lying.”

Cloud rocks up and back.

“How would you know?”

“You're an open book.”

Cloud scowls, gripping his warming bottle.

“But that might just be me liking to read you…”

“Do _you_ have fantasies?” Cloud jabs.

“Oh, boy. Shouldn't have gone there…”

Cloud waits, expecting the worst.

Reno pauses. He makes a face: something sour, something grotesque. He doesn't look at him. He inspects his own bottle.

“I want to grow old with someone important to me.”

Cloud wasn't expecting that.

It still doesn't change his answer.

“I'm lying and... you're giving me bullshit,” he says. “You and… your bullshit. Shinra bullshit.”

He hiccups. He tastes alcohol and acid. He’s mad again. He doesn't give a damn.

“It's honest bullshit,” Reno contests.

Cloud finishes his beer, just a sip.

“I don't have any fantasies,” he grits.

“That's a shame... You should start.”

Reno lets him have his lie.

They break for a beat.

The air resettles, rests, flutters, and flows.

“What's the craziest thing you've ever done?” Reno eventually tries, nudging his ribs.

Cloud blinks at him.

“I…" he gapes.

He hardly hesitates.

“I dressed up in women's clothing once to seduce someone. To help a friend.”

“Oh, _what_?” Reno squawks, reeling back.

“What's the craziest thing _you've_ done?” Cloud counters, half present, eager to move on.

“I dunno… I once thought flying a helicopter under a freeway overpass was a good idea. But that's just what I can think of off the top of my head... Let's talk more about this cross-dressing thing.” Reno licks his lips. “It was a dress?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, fuck.”

Reno takes a swallow of his fifth beer.

Or is it sixth?

“You admit it so _easily_ too.”

“It doesn't bother me.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Cloud would be lying again if he said he wasn't enjoying this.

“Wore perfume too,” he murmurs. “And lipstick.”

“Fucking _fuck_ ,” Reno swears, clenching a fist at him. “With your frame… and your… I'm done.”

Reno slugs down the rest of his beer.

 _Gulp, gulp, gulp_ and a final _crash_ as the bottle strikes the glossy and gouged counter.

The other empties all clank in harmony.

“We should go, before I can't walk straight,” he gasps. “You good? You ready?”

He stands, belches, and adjusts the crotch of his slacks one-handed. His too-tight slacks. His protruding slacks. His straining slacks.

Cloud can't miss it.

He stares, drunk, and sick, and gone.

He thinks he nods.

“Come on,” Reno urges, but he waits, staying his distance, his hands, his desires.

It doesn't last long.

He doesn't allow Cloud the opportunity to humour him and stand on his own. He comes in, seconds in, nice and close, and eliminates their distance, warming the whole side of Cloud's body with his solid presence, his bone and muscle.

He’s sliding his palm flat along Cloud's spine, having arrived so swiftly and lightly that Cloud has no time to jump. He arrives midway, already accepted, now assimilating, smoothing to waist and hip. He finds a grip, personal and pointed, his arm crossed at Cloud’s back, and sidles closer still, squeezing and containing, bringing his face to Cloud’s face, lined up, opposing yet matching. Jawline and cologne. Flesh and heat. The gesture is completed in a breath, his claim made.

Cloud's heart pounds.

“I'm takin’ you home,” Reno whispers into his ear, a gust and rush.

All for him.

Every hair on Cloud's nape prickles in rejoice.

Tifa was right about the dress.

 

 

They spill out into the wet alley.

Cloud is leaning, swaying, hot under the collar. He's almost happy and light. Or is it floating? Or is it incredibly stupid? Or is it something worse? He almost staggers off to the left and into a chained bicycle.

Reno grabs his arm, at first steadying, and then dragging. He yanks him sideways into a passageway off to the side of the dive bar.

It's even darker and narrower than the lane they came down. It's hardly big enough for the two of them to fit in. They're already bumping knees and noses.

“Don't care if I get sick at this point,” Reno gusts.

He's bearing himself down into Cloud, heavy, heaving. He shivers and steps his knee up between Cloud's legs, spreading, widening, propping him there.

Here comes the friction, a flood of it, from both sides, fumbling and frenzied. 

Cloud finds Reno's knee, and Reno finds his hipbone. They both exclaim, all hot breath and limbs and lidded eyes. Reno's twisted and panting face is the first clear image Cloud is presented with, and then Reno's eclipsing it, and consuming him.

Cloud isn't shocked, but he is overwhelmed. It's sudden impact, messy and wet. Reno gasps and pries, tongue prodding, licking, and Cloud opens to him. Sudden hot and fluid forms unfold. Moments without measure. Moments that taste of alcohol. Moments that take him far away.

He thinks he wants to stop it. He thinks this is all crazy. He thinks he should stop it, but he doesn't. He won't stop. He knows it's crazy. He knows he doesn't really want it to end. He wants this. He wants more. All of it. All of him. 

He starts kissing him back. He starts moaning and writhing, clawing and grabbing, sucking and lapping. He tastes him. All of him. Their teeth crash and click. Their bodies compress, coil, meld. Fingers find damp hair. Air is hard to come by.

Reno shoves Cloud hard into the wet wall behind. He grinds his hips, and spine, and his shoulders to ribbons. He rolls and he pushes.

Cloud squirms and accommodates. He rises into him. He claws. He rocks his hips. He shudders and quakes, weak and withered.

Reno releases his mouth to pant and fumble over him. He moves his hands to Cloud's narrow core. He grips and drags him forward, rubbing into him, back and down. He moans into his face. He sets a pace.

Cloud grabs on and throws a leg high on Reno's middle for leverage, for unabashed friction. He claws his spine and shoulders, anchoring, swept away. Moaning, groaning, wheezing. Only needing the feeling. Only knowing the objective.

Reno rumbles deep in his throat and chest. He levers Cloud up, hoisted half by his ass and the backs of his thighs. Both legs are brought off the ground to wrap around him. He grinds Cloud high up into the wall. He sucks on his exposed throat. He crushes him, craning and vibrating. He grinds into his ass. He makes Cloud's pitiful moans echo into the tight space, the night, the ether.

Their erections roll and parry, caught behind up to four layers of fabric. Reno's excited evidence is rock solid, unforgiving, prodding, promising.

Cloud works into it. He wants it. He wants to howl at the moon. He wants to be as full and longing as the moon. He rasps and whines. He squeezes his legs tight around him, clamping, confirming.

He isn't above begging.

A rush of breath.

The absence of teeth and tongue.

“Oh, we gotta go,” Reno moans.

Cloud hums back, glazed, mouth hanging wide, eyes cracked a sliver, beyond conversation. His back is aching, his head is light, his slacks are too tight. He's pouring sweat. He wants more. Nothing more than _more_.

“I'm not… doing this… in an _alley_ ,” Reno insists.

He ducks and sucks at Cloud's lower lip.

Cloud moans and lifts into him.

Reno nips him and rocks back, hips forward, eliciting cruel and destructive friction in cruel and destructive strokes, subtle, slithering, never sating.

“As much as I _want_ to…”

He's containing himself long enough to argue.

He leaves Cloud hanging, panting, needing, and spread.

“Fuck. Come on. Let's get back.”

Cloud groans, breathless, “Why not—”

“Listen,” Reno counters, giving him only his words and his warm body to hang against. “I can literally do it _anywhere_. I've done it _everywhere_. I'll tear you apart right here. But I want _you_ to enjoy it. You're sick. You're drunk. You're gonna do as I say, yo. And I'm gonna do this properly. As properly as I still can.”

Cloud rolls his eyes.

“How do you feel about bareback?”

“What?” Cloud gusts.

“Nevermind. Come _on_.”

 

 

Late afternoon finds him slinking back into the bar.

He’s almost sure he’s home free (he’s going to make it, he’ll get to safety), as he’s already cleared the back doorway, and most of the bar floor, and just about to head up the stairs—Tifa and the kids might be in the kitchen, or the storeroom, or out, or wherever they are when he’s not here—but, he’s never that lucky.

“You’re back.”

Cloud jumps, despite himself.

Of all people to sneak up right now.

 _Denzel_.

Cloud winces and turns to face him.

His head and guts aren’t too happy with the decision either.

Tifa joins them seconds later, stepping in from the storeroom.

That saves him some trouble, but not much.

“Cloud,” she declares.

Whether that’s concern or curiosity, he’ll never know.

He straightens up, feeling found out.

“Where did you go?” Denzel asks.

Cloud’s stomach rolls. His head throbs. He waits a beat longer, ignoring the question in the hopes that they’ll just stop.

He doubles to cough into his hand.

“Cloud…” Tifa starts, that mothering tone tickling.

“Are you okay?” Denzel adds.

Cloud is defeated. He shakes his head and points to his throat.

“I... can’t…” he grates out, sounding more like two cinderblocks shifting.

He can’t say more.

It dawns wonderfully on both their faces in unison.

“You can’t talk?” Denzel asks first.

Cloud nods, smiling weakly, and then slides his eyes away.

Tifa is about ready to lose it.

Cloud notices the signs as he’s trying not to notice the signs.

She’s shaking, snorting, badly containing her wry smile.

“Lost your voice, huh?” she prods. “Wonder why _that_ is?”

Denzel has no idea, of course. He glances between them.

Cloud wants to crawl away. He wants to melt, evaporate, dissipate.

“Did you go far? Did you go to a chocobo race?” Denzel murmurs. “They scream a lot there… Saw it on TV...” 

Tifa laughs now, unable to hold it in.

“Oh, Cloud. I’m sorry,” she gasps.

She’s still struggling to subdue her smile when he turns to leave.

“Tifa!” Denzel scolds. “You shouldn’t make fun of him!”

“Oh, Denzel,” Tifa sighs. “I can’t… help myself. I’m really proud, honest.”

“Well?” Denzel inquires, ignoring her lame apology to drill Cloud.

Cloud has to stop his escape. Of course he stops.

“Did you have a good time? Was he nice?” Denzel asks him.

Tifa must have told him about their date the day before.

Cloud considers the question.

It doesn’t take long.

He nods, _yes_.


	2. the outcome

After a short jaunt down the alley, and an awkward piggyback ride via a stumbling and yammering Reno (that didn’t help either of their cases any), they come crashing into Reno’s dim bedroom, door slamming and bouncing off the wall, tangled in each other's arms.

Cloud is ravenous. He's brainless, breathless, sick and drunk. He's almost climbing Reno as he stands, pawing and pressing all of himself into his firm and willing frame. He's sucking the tongue right out of his mouth. He's pulling his tie taut. He’s eager for more.

Reno reciprocates, gripping Cloud's ass and holding him near, keeping them close, keeping him buzzing and alight, rubbed and ready. He’s enjoying his mouth, his eagerness, his pliability.

They come to a collective halt at the center of the dark room.

Their eyes won’t need adjusting.

Inside the war and clash, the switch of bodies and tongues, Reno comes alive and fights back against him. He grips Cloud by the arms and turns his face aside, disengaging their mouths with an audible liquid report. He takes a great breath and shoves Cloud back in one motion.

Cloud stumbles, not ready for it, and meets the bed, dropping hard onto the mattress.

Reno remains: a dancing shadow.

“Not gonna have the energy after all that,” he huffs.

Cloud groans.

“Gonna get me all _worked up_ … and then _drop out_? Just like that?” he moans.

Cloud sprawls and stretches back over Reno’s bed, sweat damp, rain damp, swelling with need, brimming with it, about to burst, burn up, drift on.

He got this far. He let himself go. He can't stop now.

“Oh, no,” Reno breathes into the darkness between them. “See. I can just... get you even _more_ worked up... while I catch my breath. And then it’s on.”

Cloud swallows, tasting all that forgotten illness. His head is spinning. His blood is coursing.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_ is right,” Reno purrs.

He starts his advance. He glides across the room, a shuffle and whisper, and meets him in moments. He’s climbing onto the bed with him, one movement at a time, crawling over, depressing the cushion, unsettling his rest, and forcing him to lie flat.

Cloud has no air. He parts his lips. He anticipates. There is only darkness.

Until Reno takes his opportunity.

He’s a faceless shade dipping his head to make their faces meet. He's not making it quite that simple though. He’s not giving over, giving in, and kissing him outright, like in the alley. He’s teasing him, licking over his lolling, searching lips. He's nipping them, working at them, biting and sucking, leaving the thin flesh plump and receptive, glistening and unsatisfied.

Cloud is awash enough in that, overstimulated, overwhelmed, his mind rambling, ranting, a mantra, _more, more, more_ —and then Reno's palming his cock through his slacks, and stars burst. He arches up, he contorts and moans, loud and long, almost crashing their skulls together.

What he thought was chaos before was only the beginning.

He grips at Reno, his arms, his shirt sleeves. He spreads for him. He wants for him.

“Oh, fuck,” he whines.

But, he's still not getting all he needs.

Reno inspects his shape and size, making Cloud’s strained voice cut out as he worries him through wet fabric. His palm digs, flat and firm, and Cloud’s mouth works wordless, noiseless. He croaks and chokes. He rises to meet him. He can’t really _feel_ him. He _has_ to feel him.

Reno abandons his rubbing to sweep over him, moving their bodies into line, pressing them level. His tongue he jabs into Cloud’s protesting mouth.

Cloud reacts violently, clinging on, wrapping all of himself around him, enveloping. He is detached but so very present. Everything is stretching long, lagging, but also over-fast, over-sensitive, over-encumbering. He’s sick and drunk and crazy, and now he's making out with Reno, hot and heavy, in his own bed.

Their heads roll and change, searching for the best angle, the deepest depths. Noses bump, jaws work, teeth click, lips slide and slick, cracking for air, a muffled gasp, a liquidy drag.

Minutes of it. Minutes of sultry sliding and humming, vibrations, moans, affirmation. Minutes of mapping the spread of wriggling muscle, and testing the feeling of fever flesh, and the roll of bones and joints, and sinew; the roll of hips and turgid want, caught between.

Endurance.

He's already so far gone. So far away.

Reno has himself laid over Cloud, his full weight bearing down on his middle and chest. Cloud writhes beneath him, working his trapped legs the wider, pulling his knees high and far. He parts and lets him in, nothing but stitches as a barrier.

It's too much and not enough.

Always too much and not enough.

A lifetime of _nevers_ and _could bes_.

They break for air.

Cloud whimpers at the dilemma.

“You… done this... before?” Reno rasps, husky, hurried, gasped out.

“Yes,” Cloud hisses back.

Reno stills, breathing quickly controlled.

“ _Really_?”

“I'm not... gonna lie.”

“Oh, fuck,” he swears, rising to look down on him. “That's almost... disappointing.” Reno cocks his head and inhales before asking, “So… do you… have a favourite position then?”

Cloud growls, clawing at him.

“Shut up already...”

Reno does not. He looks on him, sweaty, boozy and half-lit.

“ _Hey_ ,” he gasps, “I'm just trying to cover my ass here. And besides, how am I supposed to know there's a position you prefer... if I don't _ask_?”

“ _Reno_.”

He leans down over him, just inches and air.

“Oh, I like that…” he tells him. “I like when you _snarl_ my name. Please do that more.”

Cloud glares.

He only hopes he can see it.

Reno’s smirk is toothy, almost visible. He ducks to bite his throat. He uses those teeth against him.

Cloud melts, writhing, wilting.

Reno bites and he sucks, mouthing half his next words into the soft meat there. Words Cloud hears only because they stick and appeal, and they’re so close, to his ears, and the truth. They manage to punch through some of the fog.

“You know… I don't think you want it _given_ … so much… as you want it _forced_...”

He bites him.

Hard enough to hurt.

Cloud hisses and twists.

“Or is it _taken_? You wanna be _taken_?”

Reno sucks at his throat and slithers his hand high to yank his hair, flat and sweat sopping, threaded and throbbing.

Cloud cries out his approval. Even as it sounds pained and broken, he wants it.

He whines it. He mewls it.

“Might just... get on that,” Reno utters.

He grips his fingers, bites, gnaws, licks.

“Might just fuck you ragged.”

A hot puff in his ear.

Teeth promising more pain, fingers wrenching.

“Sweat that sickness right outta you…”

Cloud claws Reno's thin shirt. He groans up to the ceiling. He can't move. He is controlled, pinned from above, and all so easily too. All by the grip of a single hand and the tip of a few bottles.

“Yes,” he hisses, mouth gaping. “ _Yes_.”

Reno is unfastening his slacks.

Cloud’s blinking and watering eyes train on the corner of the room. He is kept contained with one hand, his head pitched back by the root of his hair, spine wanting to follow. Reno’s other hand frees his cock.

Arching, springing, writhing agony.

Reno doesn’t bother indulging him, or removing his slacks, but he does undo them, and hike up Cloud’s t-shirt, and flick open his jacket, getting at his raw flesh, getting the air to him. That’s where he stops though. Reno exposes as much of Cloud as possible with one hand, and then he quits.

Cloud is damp, choked and sweating from the heat of too many fires.

The flames of sickness; the cauldron of alcohol; the furnace of desire.

Strong fingers curl sequentially up his exposed shaft.

Cloud bucks and fights at the drum, the squeeze, tearing at his own hair.

Reno releases that hair and lets him watch.

And Cloud watches.

He tilts his head down and looks on while Reno’s hand works his engorged cock. Long fingers, slender wrist, longer strokes. Tight heat. The slide of palm and knuckle. The curl of thumb. The press and prod of thumb pad. The slick, the slide, the ruthless rhythm. Cloud’s lost in it. Caught in it. Dizzy, dim, dreary. Half awake, half present, but more alive than he's been in ages. He's not hollow. He's overflowing. He’s swirling.

“You mind if…”

“Reeeno,” Cloud draws out, moaning it out, clawing and clinging, bucking and bouncing.

He drops back and rolls his head over the mattress.

He can't stand it. He can't handle it. He doesn’t want an interruption. He doesn't want it to ever end. Don't ever stop. Don’t stop. Keep going.

“Go, go, go,” he chants.

“Hey, hey,” Reno chides, squeezing him tight. “I was just gonna ask if I could turn the light on, yo. Can't see you. Wanna see you. _Gotta_ see you. Seriously.”

Cloud gasps and rises. His hips lift, his back arcs, bows. His shoulders and neck press into mattress. He doesn't care. He just wants to feel good. He needs to feel good. He maneuvers himself in Reno’s lax and then gripping hand.

“Is that a yes?” Reno asks, clenching and releasing.

Cloud nods. Enough to jar his thoughts. Enough to make his heart skip and thump. Enough to make his drenched hair flick and snap.

“Yes, yes, yes, fine…” he grits out, a rush and stuttering breath.

Reno disappears. Along with his warm hand.

Cloud winces and balls his fists at the loss.

He has to feel all the bad again. The chill, the want, the wear, the weight.

The light clicks on. Too much all at once.

Cloud’s eyes squint and close. He takes a wheezing, shuddering breath.

Reno hasn't returned yet.

“What're you doing?” Cloud asks the back of his eyelids.

He's impatient, panting, parted. He can feel the pulse pumping and bumping all the way to his cock. A shiver, a sway, a ticking time bomb. He can feel the stinging air. He can feel sweat roll. He feels exposed. He is exposed.

“Just enjoying the view,” Reno replies.

Cloud flutters his eyes. He peers at him through a sliver.

He's just standing there. Tall and red. He’s slicking his mussed hair into place, panting, sweating, still handsome. He's pale and perfect. He's disheveled and pumped up, and not just handsome anymore.

He's well into beautiful.

“Get back here,” Cloud demands.

“Mmm,” Reno hums.

He doesn't just yet. He turns and leans.

“Just need…”

He’s rifling through his nightstand drawer.

Cloud squeezes his eyes shut. His teeth mesh. He rumbles annoyance in his chest and coughs a deep cough. 

That smell. The sickness in him. The overwhelming heat. He coughs and coughs. He's getting upset. Angry. He's always loaded and ready to bite. He's always being stretched to breaking.

“You don't… _need_ anything…” he snaps back.

“Oh?” Reno asks.

A rush of new heat and deepening shadow.

Reno is there when Cloud cracks an eye.

Reno is a giant, an outline. The mattress sinks as he leans and hovers, coming lower and lower, closer and closer, hanging right over him, ready to strike.

“Saliva,” Cloud explains.

“That's it?” Reno confirms.

Cloud nods, swallows, gasps.

His sinuses are giving him so much trouble.

His whole damn life is.

Reno grins down at him.

“Fuck. Knew I liked you for a reason,” he says.

Still no satisfaction.

He's making him wait.

He's holding him between life and death.

“Yours or mine?” Reno inquires.

Cloud thrashes.

As little as he can. He throws a minor fit.

“You ask so many questions!” he exclaims, as loud as his throat will let him.

And it's not loud. He sounds strangled.

He moans and whines in defeat.

“Calm down, sicky,” Reno suggests.

“ _You_ —”

“Are _so_ impatient.” 

Fingers return to receptive flesh.

Cloud is instantly placated.

Back to madness. Back to the pursuit of completion. Back to hands on. Two hands. Palms, fingers, fingertips, nails. Pressing, clawing, pulling at his jacket, his shirt, his pants. Every motion is liquid, lazy. Every motion is warm and distant.

Reno strips him bare and staggers back.

He himself remains as almost half a suit. His tie is loose, and his shirt. His sleeves are rolled to elbow. He is messy, spiky hair. He is pointed and piercing. He is cocking his hips, unlatching and sliding out his belt, drawing it from belt loops. He is unlooping and discarding his loose, red tie. He is undoing the front of his black slacks, reaching in, adjusting himself, and then he is climbing back.

“Ready?”

He sucks on the long fingers of his left hand and folds Cloud's right leg up to his chest. He doesn’t stress it, he lets it go naturally. He gets him spread neatly, nicely, angled, and serious.

He slides those two wet fingers down Cloud's bare and bent leg, starting at his trembling knee. He paints them down his inner thigh, cooling, tickling. He watches Cloud’s every reaction, eyes locked on, ecstatic, gleaming.

They heave and gasp together, alcohol aroma mixing with the musk of sweat and flesh.

Reno slides those wet fingers on, and then he makes them disappear too.

Every new and exciting sensation he offers, he so quickly takes away.

Cloud whimpers his frustrations. He balls his hands in blankets. He rears up.

Reno smiles sweetly though. His face assures him everything is okay. He proves it, and rewets his digits, sucking the two middle ones slippery wet right before him. Cheeks hollow. Eyes shine, pupils vast and yawning. His face is flushed, lips swollen red, stretched. Red enough to match his hair and tattoos.

He sucks his fingers moist and glistening and then he closes in, draping over him, leaning in, pushing him back. He ghosts those wet fingers over the rise of Cloud’s cock, over the thin, pulsing flesh. He moves them lower, for his opening. He brings his face close. And then he's making a solid, sudden, and sodden connection.

Just fingertips at first.

Cloud jerks and then writhes.

“Like that?” Reno breathes.

Cloud moans in return. He quakes and shivers. He can't watch. He shuts his eyes and focuses on his breathing. His haggard breathing. His gutted breathing. He chokes and coughs.

The fingertips press and push. They test him, stress him. Reno prods and digs, just a little here, a little there. An inch at best. A concept. Reno offers him so little. He eases in slowly. He threatens to retreat always, pulling out just enough, sliding in no deeper.

Cloud agonizes. He relaxes. He tenses.

The hand pushing his leg down and up won't allow him the freedom of movement. He has to take all the punishment as it’s dealt, sweet and slick.

The fingertips are almost to the first knuckles now. Reno twists his wrist and rolls them, turning them, causing a fuss.

Cloud grunts and tries to rock down and meet them.

He can't.

Reno stays him.

“Not so fast,” he gusts.

“Not _enough_ ,” Cloud complains.

His desperation must be convincing.

Reno splays his invading fingers, stretching, scissoring, opening.

Cloud cries out, hisses and shudders. It's the best kind of torture.

The fingers twist and spread. They roll over and push deeper, deeper. Slick, hot, solid. They twist as they drill in. A corkscrew of unending proportions. A barrage of sensation.

Cloud gasps, gulps, drenched in sweat. His legs pull wide, his whole body shuddering and shaking. He takes Reno’s fingers, flat on his back, flat in Reno's bed. He takes them to the last knuckle. And he doesn't just take them, he strains to impale himself further.

“Oh,” he breathes. “Oh, _fuck_.”

Reno meets depth and already he starts their removal.

Cloud has no time to rest.

The fingers drag out, slow and steady.

“Oooh,” he moans, ragged, rasped.

They retreat halfway and then push back. Back in and then out, faster. Out and then forward, fluid. Reno pumps them into him repeatedly, the fingers sliding in solid, squeezed tight, all the way to the last knuckle, reaching and ruthless. He rolls his wrist, he works the motion. There's no sound but their squelching, their meeting, their wallowing.

Cloud can't breathe. He can't move. His jaw is dropped and working, his fingers are clenched and spiked. He's frozen in ecstasy. He's getting all he bargained for.

And more.

Reno finally allows him a break, easing the pace, slowing it down. He doesn't drill him anymore, he caresses him. He slips his two fingers out and then back in, languid and lavished. He calms and corrupts. He strokes and stokes. He wiggles and worms.

Reno drops his head down, mouthing where his teeth and lips land. He injects his fingers into Cloud’s heated and sultry flesh, lazily, lasting, as he licks and nips his throat. He plays him like a tune he already knows so well.

And Cloud, he would sing for him too, if he could. He only groans and grunts, gasps and rasps. He's losing his voice more with every utterance. He's lost his words already. And his mind. He's trying to keep his head above the tidal wave. He won't last. He won't.

Reno removes his fingers without warning. He's stumbling back and shoving his trousers down. He’s pulling himself out. All of himself, in all his plump and ruddy glory, stiff and swollen. He's licking the fingers of his other hand and wetting his head, his shaft, full and flushed. He's throbbing for him. He's getting ready for him.

Cloud watches, mesmerized.

Reno reaches out. He lines himself up. He's lining _them_ up. He's pulling Cloud to the edge of the bed and bringing him into position, where he waits, hot and living, his knees on the floor.

Cloud braces his own feet on the edge of the mattress, thighs open, everything open, and drops his head back. He doesn’t look. He can't look. He can't keep his head up anymore. He can't wait.

He feels Reno all at once as intense heat. He is radiance. He is nearness. Their distance shrinking. And then he is pushing. He moves in, having crouched before him at the side of his bed. He presses Cloud’s legs wider, and up to his chest, opening him. He bumps his head into clenching flesh.

Cloud shudders and grits his teeth.

He's trying not to cough.

He's trying not to expire.

Fly apart.

Wake up.

“You okay?” Reno asks.

Cloud rolls his hips, coaxing, persuading.

Reno doesn't need to be told twice. He slides him towards him, dragging Cloud inches across the bed, forcing him onto his cock with the weight of his own body.

It's the best and worst part. The squeeze, the clench, the minor pain, the strain, the moment before madness, and true success, and true satisfaction. Reno has to get past Cloud's tight muscles before he can take him. He has to claw and pull Cloud onto him, until he gives.

And he will. And when he does, it's with a dry, mangled cry and a jump.

Reno rocks inside, passing the point of no return, sliding far, sliding on.

Cloud can't stop himself from shredding his already raw throat. He shouts it out, broken and jagged. He can't stop. He won't stop. He sounds near frantic. He sounds in pain. He could be. He doesn’t know. He knows he’s being split apart. He knows he’s being tested.

“Wha’s wrong?” Reno slurs, stopping his charge.

Cloud's first thought is.

_Oh, oh, too big._

He actually flushes at the idea of admitting it, even as he feels him hot in his bowels.

“You're… you’re…” he rasps.

“I'm… I'm…” Reno mocks, just as breathless.

He doesn't dip himself deeper, but he does wiggle, and jig, and worry back and forth.

“Oh, fuck, fuck,” Cloud groans. “ _Big_.”

Reno hums.

He doesn’t filter the wolfish grin.

“Oh, yeah? Don't tell me I'm _too_ much for you.”

“No,” Cloud breathes, shaking his damp head.

Reno nods down between them.

“Why don't ya take a look?”

He's smirking now. He's not wiggling and pitching anymore. He's waiting for him to obey, to see, to witness. He's forcing him to. He won't move, or give him another inch, until he does.

Cloud breathes. He wheezes. He winces and whines, and shakes his head.

No, no, no. Negative.

“Take it easy. Hang on…”

Reno reaches long for the head of the bed. He doesn't have to go far, but he still has to disrupt and jostle Cloud as he lies, half pinned on his cock.

“Here's a pillow, yo.”

He slides the item over.

Cloud takes the cushion and folds it under his neck. Now he can almost see their violent joining. Now he can almost watch Reno fill him up, as slow or as fast, as much or as little, as he wants.

He still can't.

He shuts his eyes as Reno rocks forward, pushing himself deeper, darker, digging.

Cloud switches up from clawing and bunching the sheets and blanket and latches onto Reno instead. He finds his forearms. He grips and tears. He cries out, noiseless, choked, chipped. He whines. He coughs.

Reno hisses his happy return and bucks his hips, making those nails bite down hard, harder. He groans, he moans, he's getting closer, he's filling him all the more. He's making the space. He’s almost there.

“Open your eyes…” Reno tells him.

Cloud whimpers. He rolls his head.

He can't.

He _can't_.

“I…” he gasps.

But, he's staring into turquoise.

“Watch me,” Reno gusts over his face.

Cloud drowns in his bright eyes. He gapes and breathes, blinks and grips. He is rinsed over with his want, his need, his determination. He watches Reno's ecstatic face as he surges up inside him, pinning him, opening him, every unflagging inch wanting to fill him, end him, bend him.

Meaning and moaning. He watches as he pulls out, taking that meaning away. He watches Reno's every muscle in his lean arms, and chest, and neck seem to undulate and shift. A wave, flowing, growing, receding, rushing in and out.

He watches as Reno returns, again, deeper, longer. He watches him fuck him into his bed. And Cloud takes it all like a knife trying to kill him. He exclaims it right into Reno's sweating, panting face. He holds his legs wide and meets his assault. He doesn't want to slow down. He doesn't want to come down. He wants to be used. He wants to be _well_ -used.

Hips smacking, flesh packing. Legs splayed and pressed higher, wider. Reno pins and slams into Cloud, hips rolling, crashing. He's making his toes curl, and stripping his throat. In return, Cloud's howling, rising, wrapping his legs around him, locking him in, restricting but enforcing.

Reno eases into a lull.

They sit joined.

They both pour sweat.

“Still too big?” Reno gasps.

Cloud groans and looks away.

Reno licks along his exposed throat cords. He nuzzles and bites the flesh there. He roll his hips, reminding him of just how far he's driven. Just how big he is. Just how screwed he is now.

Cloud soaks it up. He coils around Reno, legs and arms. And Reno does the same. And then more. He sweeps him into his arms, gathers him up, picks Cloud up, and brings him onto his lap, his knees braced on mattress. He brings him right down onto his inches, eased, squeezed, upright.

He doesn't stop there. He latches onto Cloud's hips and helps him work himself in a rhythm, a succession, a churning and surging.

Cloud holds himself steady on Reno’s shoulders. He plants his feet on the edge of the bed for a springboard. He spreads his knees wide. He rises and drops. He spears himself, reveling in the friction, the slide, the press. His cock rolls and bumps over their abdomens meanwhile, caught between. He gapes at the ceiling. His soaked hair sticks and flicks off his forehead. Droplets fly.

The rhythm sustains, and then slows. He draws up less and less, worked to the bone. He's gotten so tired. He was already so tired. He eyes Reno as he works around him. He pins him with his eyes. He drops slowly, slowly, slowly. He stares him down, gasping, sweating, drenched, daring.

Reno looks ready to swallow him up.

And he doesn't wait long to do so.

As soon as Cloud drops back into his lap, all filled up and faded, all snug and close, Reno catches his mouth and they lock. So much saliva. So much sensation. Cloud’s cock caught between them. Reno’s cock wedged inside him. Cloud’s eyes stream. He exclaims into his smothering tongue.

“ _Reno_.”

And comes like a thunderstorm.

He cracks and splinters. He rumbles and moans, groans, gutted, choked. He washes their abdomens with his release, blinding hot, blistering. He convulses and clutches, tensing around Reno's rock solid invasion, crashing with the waves.

Cloud catches him by surprise.

He must.

Reno's gusting, nonverbal reply sounds startled, alarmed, and all too short. He's tossing him down, mowing Cloud over onto his bed, his back. He's furiously pounding and thrusting, folding and stretching. His face severe, expression pained, inches away, sweating, dripping, frantic. He's carving out his ending, grunting it into Cloud's gasping, reeling face, taking it out of his hide.

He pops.

He shouts it out.

Reno comes with a jolt, a rise, a curl, and a strained shout. And, it could just be more sweat drops, drip, dripping, cold and constant, but it's not.

Cloud opens his clamped shut eyes and sees the wetness streaming down Reno's flushed cheeks and his long, white throat, stretched and working.

The wetness, the dripping... they’re tears.

Reno's exalting the ceiling. Reno’s quivering and struck.

He's all poured out.

He's holy, huge, heaving, and heavy.

Cloud can't take it.

His eyes again clamp shut.

He feels the sweat and the tears fall.

 

 

Early morning finds him waking up next to Reno.

And not just _next_ to him either. He's on his back and Reno is above: a human blanket. Their lower bodies are cushioned together. Reno's torso and head have slid off to his left, face obscured, hair mussed. Elbows and inner thighs, ankles and wrists, knees and hips. He can feel him breathing, even and constant. He can feel most of him. Where he isn't numb.

He's sore and warm, and.

“Morning,” Reno groans.

He rises, lifts, and peels their chests apart.

He looks down.

“Thank you,” Reno states.

“For... what?” Cloud croaks, his throat tight.

It's difficult to form words.

“For giving me... a purpose.”

Cloud blinks up at him.

_Oh, shit. This is getting too serious already._

Reno groans and shifts to better accommodate their melded bodies. He twists and rolls, sliding his naked form from atop him and then right back up into Cloud's side. He drapes his heavy limbs long, and his chin onto his shoulder.

“You gave me purpose,” Reno admits.

“Reno…”

Cloud winces and swallows.

Reno winces with him.

“Shit. Sounds like you _did_ lose your voice, man. I'm not surprised. We weren’t very… gentle. Like we should have been… You were screamin’ like a banshee...”

Cloud shakes his head.

Reno rolls his eyes.

“Okay, yeah. Sure. And... before I get too far from the point... I’m just gonna... lay it out there,” he breathes, looking away, and then right back. “I still work for Shinra. But. We're helping now. We're helping all the… uh, the orphans. All the… ones from Midgar. And everywhere else too. _You_ gave me the idea. It's my project, man. I'm gonna fix it. I'll smooth over what we did. What... I did. I'm trying to.”

“Are you…”

_For real?_

Cloud jolts upright in bed, Reno be damned.

His head be damned.

“I'm... leaving,” he grits.

“Come back soon,” Reno advises, showing little alarm, and rolling onto his spine.

Cloud takes no more action. He stares. He sees.

“You're serious,” he whispers, able to say that well enough.

“As a heart attack,” Reno returns.

Cloud drops back next to him.

“So you're staying?” Reno asks, scooting close.

“For a…”

But, Cloud can’t finish. His throat won’t let him.

He coils around Reno instead.

Reno pulls him near.

“I’ll make you more eggs,” he states. “And gallons of hot tea. Because I can't send you home on an empty stomach… And I also promise... not to tell anyone about how you... put out on the first date… _and_ don't practice safe sex.”

Cloud rises just enough to sock Reno’s shoulder.

“ _You_ don't either,” he enunciates, forcing it out.

“Yeah, but... that surprises no one.”

Cloud half smiles.

Reno beams.

Cloud drops back into his arms.

Time passes.

“So… how do you feel about a shower first?” Reno asks.

Cloud shrugs in his embrace.

 

 

Now he's in Reno's bathroom.

Again.

He's crowding into Reno's shower, _with_ Reno (after having swallowed more pushed pills to the tune of: _you’re still sick, dumbass_ ).

He's appreciating Reno's form, fluid and firm and white. He's either very sick now, still waking up, hungover, or those pills are especially potent. He can't look away. He's breathless and foggy. He’s beyond all hope of saving.

He's noting Reno’s imperfections, scars, dips, bends, protrusions. And so far, he likes what he sees. He likes his hips and spine. His shoulders are divine. He likes his stupid hair, almost black as it's wet, falling long over his back. He likes the imprint of a seam his shirt left in his flesh on the underside of his arms. He likes his eyes, sharp and sly. He likes his rubbed red elbows. He likes his bony ankles.

“You're so fucking _tiny_ ,” Reno notes.

He's not the only one having a look.

“I mean, your _frame_. Lookit you. You're _tiny_ ,” Reno explains. “I knew you were _small_ , but damn… And _damn_ that I _like_ it so much too…”

Cloud pushes that tiny frame into him.

“Oh, hello,” Reno purrs.

What could have been nothing, or slow and sensual at the very least, becomes chaos.

They're sliding their wet skins over each other. They're fumbling for friction and ease and pleasure. They're a whirl of tongues and limbs.

Things escalate quickly.

Reno pushes them away from the drumming spray, locking his lips over Cloud’s lips, locking his knee between his legs, keeping him stable, keeping him caught. They sag and sway, spar and parry. They fight for supremacy. They grip and glance. They lavish and lust.

Before long, they’re panting into each other’s open mouths, and Cloud can't breathe.

“Can I…” Reno gasps. “Can I…”

He nods to the shower wall behind.

Cloud turns to looks at that wall, not getting the idea at first, not having enough mind, or oxygen.

Reno doesn’t explain, he grabs Cloud’s shoulders and twists him around, gently, carefully, making sure to mind the slick floor. He turns him all the way away from him and then pushes him up into that tiled wall. He steps Cloud’s legs wider. He presses himself in from behind, full body. He gusts into Cloud’s ear.

Cloud immediately feels the press of his solid want.

And then he knows what it is _he_ wants.

He pushes himself back into Reno. He rocks his head back and wiggles his hips as Reno bites his nape, worrying and raking.

“Bend over a bit,” Reno breathes.

Cloud shudders and complies.

Reno pulls himself away.

His hips and his heat stay.

“Hold on tight,” he suggests.

The slide is different this time. It’s harder and easier. It’s the same and not. It’s just… different.

The hot water falling and slicking them both isn’t a good enough lubricant, but it’s not a bad one either. Reno takes a moment, probably to lick his fingers and wet himself proper, and then he’s grabbing Cloud’s narrow hips, making the final adjustments, bringing him near. Reno bends his knees and crouches, angling himself in with his hand, angling in for that opening.

Cloud feels the press, he feels the struggle. He drops his head and hikes himself onto his toes. He dips his back and brings himself into better alignment, jutting his hips and ass out, and then he feels the sudden push, the prodding spread. He gasps and braces himself on the vaporous wall with both hands, flat and slipping.

As soon as he has a foothold, Reno’s guiding hand joins with the other on Cloud’s hip. Reno brings Cloud to meet him. He works himself inside, inch by inch, the friction immense, taxing, toiling. He knocks and grinds up into him, filling him in moments, clawing his flesh.

Cloud can’t make a sound. He can’t shout or cry. He focuses on keeping himself upright. He focuses on the sounds Reno makes, and on the recession and the return. He focuses on keeping his breathing even, his hips just right, his back straight.

The packing, thudding, slapping sounds resonate in the small space.

Reno grows louder and louder, taking them over.

Cloud rumbles and groans, strained, stressed, slipping, rocking, swaying.

“Oh, fuck…”

Reno moans it out, every stroke an utterance.

“Not gonna…”

He digs and dips. He gasps and groans.

“Not gonna… _last_ …”

He crashes in and stays put, trembling, shaking, on the edge. 

They both live out the moment.

And then Reno snakes his hand around and finds Cloud’s bobbing cock.

The resulting jolt and clench Cloud offers up sends Reno into a frenzy.

“Oh,” he gusts, taken, turned.

He’s dragging out and driving home. He’s threatening to send Cloud up the wall.

Cloud pushes back, against the wall, against Reno, against the thudding invasion. He mewls and whimpers. He wants to scream it out. He wants to rejoice, loud and proud. His throat locks and does nothing.

“Here it... _comes_ ,” Reno grunts.

And for some reason, that statement, that silly statement, _that’s_ the trigger.

Cloud comes all at once, by surprise, right into Reno’s curled hand.

Now it's a struggle of staying on his legs.

He drifts and strains as Reno pummels on, heaving out his impending elation, boundless, senseless. He struggles as Reno crows and jerks, stopped now, sunken now, emptying himself inside him for a second time.

Reno cries out just the same, in alarm and relief. The resulting and overwhelmed tears are probably washing away, concealed in the steam, the heat, the moment.

The resulting and overwhelming madness runs right down the drain.

 

 

The small bathroom stays steamed up and warm, even after the water is turned off.

They step out and towel down side by side, together and separate.

“Hell of a quickie,” Reno remarks.

Cloud half smiles, half nods, wholly lost to the ether, the reality, the possibility, the hope.

It really was.

And he might just be hoping there’s more where that came from.

Because he might just be willing.


End file.
